Captain Burstwhistle's Trouble.

Hawke's Bay Times, Issue 1522, 5 November 1873, Page 1

Captain Burstwhistle's Trouble.

A TALE OF STRANGEBURGH. (From " The Quiver.") IK TWO CHAPTERS—CHAPTER I. Everybody in Strangeburgh knew °T Captain Burstwliistle's house, which stood within its own neat, well-stocked garden in the leafy lane which led down to the church; and everybody _in Strangeburgh knew the captain himself, as well as they knew the neat, roowy, red-brick house in which he lived"; for Captain Burstwhistle was a character—such was the verdict at least of all the spinsterhood dwelling in Strangeburgh. This verdict is little to be wondered at, considering that the captain had walked warily, avoiding the pitfalls and snares which desolate maidenhood had set for his feet during the last thirty years; and who as he verged towards the close of the fifth decade of his life was a hale old bachelor. He was a jovial, friendly man, much liked by all Strangeburgh, and his presence at the Dispensary committee meetings was always welcomed,' feu* he was sure to establish general good humor. But though jovial abroad, he was given to occasional strange fits of melancholy at home. He would sometimes start up from his chair, as though leaping to encounter an enemy, and would talk to himself as though all Strangeburgh had accused him of doing wrong. " It's all nonsense. It was not'my fault. I have nothing to answer for. It was all her own mad, fanatical folly —why couldn't she give in? " Whatever has come of it, she has only herself to blame. It wasn't my business to go hunting after her. I couldn't tell where she was. People don't stay at one place all their lives, and there was no good in writing—no, I have nothing on my conscience in the matter." Then after some such expostulation, he would sit down to his book, and leaning on the window-sill, determinedly pore oyer it for houis, and until his eyes grew moist, when he would leap up angrily, and fling himself out of the house. It happened one day that just as the captain slammed the door, behind him after one of these fits of sentimental abstraction, that he found himself face to face with the parson, who was coming up the garden path. '•Captain," said Mr Thornton, "I want you to help me." " I shall be proud, Mr Vicar," and the captain meant it; for in spite of all the little fumes and frets which he gave vent to in secret, he really liked the parson, and though he had nothing on his conscience, ho still often felt, especially when the parson was preaching, that he would be very pleased to do him a good turn. So the answer came readily and sincerely; but the captain's face began to lengthen as the parson explained what he wanted. " No, I say, Mr Vicar, I can't do that. Now, there's a good fellow—l don't .want to refuse you.; but there's., a good fellow, don't ask me that—l never did such a thing in my lit-e." " Bnt it's never too late to mend," rejoined Mr Thornton ;• and I do particularly want you. Professor Ehrenberg has travelled immensely, and an old sailor like you will enjoy his yarn—and as for saying a few words, yoiv can be as short as you please." . A little more persuasion' overcame the good-natured captain's opposition and reluctance;, and : it was finally settled, that Captain Burstwhistle was to preside on the occasion of Professor JShrenberg's lecture.

Good-natured people are a most suffering race. Too kind to refuse, or too indolent, to resist importunity, they are constantly finding themselves committed to tasks which cost them agonies to carry out; and in this plight was Captain Burstwhistle. During the intervening days he was the victim of numberless unwonted troubles. Now he would start up in bed with a halfrealized sense of some impending, horror; then remembering the awful ordeal of that meeting, he would lie down again and shudder beneath the clothes, or draw them tightly over his. head, as if to shut out the imaginary eyes of the anticipated audience which haunted him. Sometimes he would launch out against the parson, sometimes against the professor; but more often against himself for being a stupid, good-natured simpleton. All day long, and all night too, he carried about with him an uneasy, sinking sensation which reminded him forcibly of his first hours at sea. At length the eventful day—much longed for by many, much dreaded by one—broke over the streets of Strangeburgh. Would it be wet or dry 1 was the question on all lips. A light cloud about nine in the morning made the townsfolk tremble; a drizzle at eleven terribly depressed them; but the lower the barometer fell, the higher rose the hopes of the captain, who would have exulted in a hurricane, and almost welcomed an earthquake at that moment of unsurpassed anguish. Towards midday, however, the much-feared weather question was settled. The struggling sun burst royally through the clouds•; the drizzling skirts of the storm retreated to the. west; the rain-dashed pavements began to dry and glow beneath a clear bright sky ; the vane on the markethall grew steady; the eaves of the Corn Exchange no longer even dropped with the relics of the showers ; and by half-past two,white muslins, gay- flowered bonnets and hats, , lace-embroidered parasols, and thin boots were trooping along the. streets in the direction of the Corn Exchange. At five minutes to three Captain Burstwhisle- turned the corner of the street, and entered the market-place. The easy lounging roll and ready nod were wanting to him that day; there was a sharp nervous action of Ms feet when he walked ; his quiet, comfortable manner had forsaken him. He*, who usually had leisure for everything, and never omitted salute or kindly inquiry to his neighbors, now hurried through the streets,, passing unnoticed his best of cronies—nervously bowing to people he knew nothing of. When he made his way up the steps of the Corn Exchange, and found himself surrounded by a crowd of friend;>, he began a course of the most egregious blundering. He congratulated Mr Puldraught, • who was a confirmed old bachelor, on an addition to his family; he asked Mr Lovechild, whose wife had just presented him with number six, how the puppy was going on ; he gallantly expressed to Miss Snuffman, a wellestablished spinster, his hope that all her little flock were Well; while he trusted that young Miss Gatherall had had no return of her gout. He asked Dr. Oliver after his pigs, and Farmer Snooks after his patients. He vexed the squire by inquiring the success of the 1 Drainage Bill, and offended Sir Theoctistus M'Clatter by hoping that the news from Kirkcombe Colony would be good. After this' series of misfortunes, he found himself in the committee-room ( and perceived through the nervous haze which was now creeping ever his senses that there were several gentlemen in black coats all talking at once, and that among them there was "one taller than the rest, with a grey beard and a bald head, who bowed much and said little. Presently a move was made among the little throng, and the captain found himself carried along as in a dream, till, dazed in mind, he beheld before him an indistinct mass of gay ribbons, flashing fans, and upturned faces. Then followed the awful moment when he must rise an 1 introduce the professor. How lie did it, and what he said, remained for ever unknown to the captain himself, and though his language was not perspicuous, nor his elocution graceful, yet the sympathetic spinsters and compassionate elderly gentlemen declared he got on famously, and only the young sprigs of fashion, who never confronted an audience in their lives, ventured to remark disparagingly on his performance ; and the kind way in which MiThornton thanked him, quite restored Captain Burstwhistle's equilibrium. Professor Ehrenberg's lecture, which narrated with learned simplicity the story of his various travels and discoveries, kept up the interest of the audience for upwards of an hour; even the captain forgot the agonies of his position, as the lecturer led his fancy oyer hills and plains, down into the bowels of the earth, and up to the icy pinnacles of mountain ranges. But not for ]ong was the hapless chairman to be. allowed tranquillity. A word — the name of a distant and obscure spot in our Indian Empire—made the captain start and look dubiously at the professor, who at this instant began to dilate on the heroism of Christian missionaries. Uneasy were the captain's raoyements during this part of the harangue ; he crossed and uncrossed his legs, he twitched his fingers nervously,

or tightened his handkerchief round them; but the drops gathered cold and fast upon his brow, as the lecturer proceeded to illustrate this Christian heroism by the example of one who had labored in the obscure spot he had mentioned. He described how, in this place of voluntary exile, a missionary had toiled, fighting a long up-hill battle against superstition, low moral perceptions, licentious habits; how, in spite of frequent fevers and fiery suns, he had held to his post; how, through it all, -his loyal wife had been the devoted partnerfpf his sorrows and sufferings, and had'braved with him every danger; till at length, when disease and fatigue had brought him to his grave, the rebound from that prolonged tension, left her nerveless and strengthless, and she, too sank down beside him—the herowife beside her heroic husband—leaving the name of Hulstein worthy to be enrolled among the .... At this point the captain turned to the vicar, and speaking hoarsely and indistinctly, whispered in his ear, " I don't feel well," and then fled from the room. Out of the Corn Exchange, across the open square,' down the forsaken streets, the captain pursued his way, until he heard his own door bang behind him. Any person who saw him, as he stood upon his door-mat, would have wondered at the change; the jovial round cheeks were hollow and pale, the bright kindly eye had lostiss lustre, and instead of the firm tread, he walked to his sitting-room with the halting gait of one who fears some advancing figure. Cautiously entering the room, he glanced with eager, restless eyes all round, and then crept forward to the nearest chair. There he sat, his chin upon his breast, his hands tightly clasped, like a man in despair. "Gone—gone—gone!" at length broke from his parched lips. " Gone—gone—gone I Oh 1 fool—fool—fool! All through, pride. Oh I my selfish, wasted years! Gone—gone—and We used to play together." And then he rose, and walked the room, repeating to himself some verse familiar to his childhood, but all forgotten till now, or hoarsely and unmelodiously grunted out the burden of some half-remembered song, breaking off short with the cry, " Gone—gone—gone!" till, falling on lines of his favorite Wordsworth, he murmured in a sing-song, see-saw way, over and over againOh! pleasant, pleasant were the da3 7 s, The time when in our childish plays, My sister Emmeline, and I Together chased the butterfly. A very hunter, did I rush Upon the prey:—with leaps and springs, Ifollowed on from brake to bush, But she—God love her—feared to brush The dust from off its wings. "Ay—ay, that was just like her—gentle, and awed by beauty, She—God love her—feared to brush The dust from off its wings. The whole town soon noticed the change in the captain. His voice was no longer heard, strong and hearty, in the reading-room. The dispensary committee missed his loud merry laugh at their meetings. No longer he strolled off to church, taking care to fall in with several groups of friends on his way. No. longer he hurried out as soon as service was over, and mingled with good-humored .face and ready smile among the gossips of the porch. He now slipped into church very early and very quietly, and left it only when all had disappeared, or else rushed off before any friend could seize upon him. No longer he walked the High Street, as wont, at three in the afternoon, chatting and laughing with the ladies who were orit shopping. Now he shunned every frequented street, stole out at night, avoided everybody, and even his snuff-box was unopened for days. People shook their heads. Spinsters, over their weak tea, opined that something dreadful had come to him, for that lie would see nobody, which conduct each maiden considered a personal affront. The change which had come over Captain Burstwhistle was the talk of the town, till another event turned the thoughts of the gossips into a different channel. (to be continued.)